


the world has turned and left me here

by Polyhexian



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Cooking, M/M, POV Second Person, PTSD, Post Game, this is a non signing almost entirely nonverbal link but I'm doing it differently than I usually do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-31 05:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21082832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: Sidon is already descending from his tower when you reach the second platform, and he stops to greet you, taking both your hands to shake them. His palms are so unique, even among Zora. Like the rest of them, his hands are cool and scaled, with such tiny platelets on his palms as to be like skin. He feels smooth, almost like if shiny were a texture, and his hands are so large they dwarf yours as they envelop them. He is so tall and so beautiful you could probably curl up and vanish in him, but that's a weird thought. What is he talking about?





	the world has turned and left me here

You like the Domain. 

Of all the places you frequent, it was always your favourite. A bit humid, perhaps, and you were always irritated by the way your clothes would chaffe whenever you came, but you could complain about every square inch of Hyrule if you set aside enough time to do so. No one would really be interested in a tome of complaints, though, so you'd keep them to yourself.

You weren't going to be staying long, though. You're escorting Zelda to Lanayru for something you probably should have remembered, and it's not like you had to stop by the Domain, but it was nice that you did anyway. You wonder who's benefit it's for, but it's probably hers, she's so busy with politics and kingdoms and treaties and things like that. Paperwork. You were never good at things like that. You're the guy that hits things. That's really all you're good for.

You follow her at a three step distance, a tight heel. You're mostly here for show, she's got an entourage now and everything, but it's still your job, so you might as well do it, no matter how many times she tries to fire you. She acts as if you've shouldered some great burden and now deserve an epilogue, as if anyone gets something like that in this world. You lost your memories and everyone you ever loved, sure, but so did she- well, not _her_ memories, but the second thing, and spent a hundred years wrestling with hatred given form. You got to sleep. Why should _you_ get a break while _she_ soldiers on? While _everyone_ soldiers on? The ones who are still alive, at least. You have a job to do.

But for all the fance and puff, you could theoretically take a break. Something more akin to an hour or two than the rest of your life, though. You wait until Zelda is busy, deep in conversation with Kodah about how the Inn is doing before you slip away. She may or may not have noticed you do so, but she doesn't call you back. You wonder if behaviour like this would have been tolerated from the you you once were, when rules existed and Knights weren't just a thing you pretended to be because someone said you were. 

Sidon is already descending from his tower when you reach the second platform, and he stops to greet you, taking both your hands to shake them. His palms are so unique, even among Zora. Like the rest of them, his hands are cool and scaled, with such tiny platelets on their undersides as to be like skin. He feels smooth, almost like if shiny were a texture, and his hands are so large they dwarf yours as they envelop them. He is so tall and so beautiful that you could probably curl up and vanish in him, but that's a weird thought. What is he talking about?

"I'm so delighted our Hylian friends could drop by this evening," he says. His tone makes it clear he really _is_ delighted, not like a lot of people you meet on visits like this, who give big toothy smiles that don't reach their eyes and say they're glad to see you when they mean they'd be glad to see you dead. Sidon is honest, open, full of life and vigor, passion. All the things that you are not, the things that baffle and confound you. He'd have made a far better Champion than you- a hero with no will to save anyone. Sidon had the power to be a hero, a real hero. Someone people could look up to and dream about. You certainly dream about him. 

Oh, he's still staring at you. You haven't answered.

You nod and smile, confirming you were listening and you heard him. Yes, it is nice you could stop by. You always like seeing him. His eyes dart past you, to Zelda, most likely, and then back to yours.

"How have you been faring?" he enquires, "have you been taking care of yourself?" 

No, but the query reminds you. You drop one shoulder of your bag and let it spin over your chest, undoing the toggle on the front and sifting about in your little collection of curios. You try to travel light these days, but old habits die hard. He waits patiently as you reshoulder your bag and offer him the jar. He blinks down at it.

"For me?" the Prince asks, as if there was any other reason you would be handing him a jar like this. He takes it from your hands, turning it over as he inspects it uncertainly.

"What is it?" he inquires at last, looking back up at you. You wish he would leave his gaze there, because his eyes are so bright, like a predator, and yet you don't feel hunted. You want to think about that strangeness forever, and you need the reference material to do so. You mime holding up an imaginary jar to your nose and sniffing it. Sidon blinks, then opens the top of the jar and sniffs it. Realization dawns across his face.

"This is Goron spice!" he cries. The look of genuine shock that he gives you is very satisfying. "Wherever did you acquire such a delicacy?"

You point vaguely in the direction of Death Mountain, and his eyes flicker in that direction before he realizes it's more of a metaphorical pointing than a literal indication.

"Did you go all the way to Goron city for this?"

You nod. He looks amazed, holding the little jar like something precious. It's not, few things are. You would have brought more if you had known how much he wanted it. You will make time to go and buy him more. 

"Thank you, Link," he says, and you feel like you could melt into a puddle under his gaze. His eyes are so bright and his smile is so wide. When he looks at you he sees something real, something valuable. Every time you do anything for him, whether it's bring him Goron Spice or slay Lynels accosting the locals, he seems so happy. You could get drunk off the feeling it gives you to see him so pleased. 

"Now," he says, tapping a finger slyly to his lips, and you cock your head at him, "I _ could _ hand this off to the kitchen staff and request a fabulous dinner for our guests this evening, or-" he offers you back the jar, "you could put your legendary cooking skills to work, and the two of us could leave Zelda and my father to dine for the evening without us."

It's not phrased as a request, but you have no doubt he'd let you back down if you wanted. But why ever would you want to turn him down on anything? You'd walk into Death Mountain if he asked you to, certain he had a good reason. You nod vigorously and take the jar back from him. You're already debating what to make- what would be more impressive, a dish that used ingredients from the farthest corners of Hyrule- Goron Spice, Goat Butter, milk and bananas, perhaps? Voltfish never failed to impress Zora, but you doubt even Muzu has tasted a properly prepared monster dish in a century at least. 

"I wondered, also," Sidon muses, and you look back up at him, "if I might trouble you to join you, perhaps."

You tilt your head at him, a silent query.

"Could you show me? How to cook, I mean to say."

You blink. What a peculiar request. He's a Prince, surely he either has staff that will cook anything he wants, or someone far more suited to teach him, if it's something he felt like doing anyway. You aren't a professional, and you surely aren't anything like the palace chefs they employ, so you're a strange choice. Perhaps he's only just thought of it now? Or perhaps he is already learning from someone more qualified and just wants to practice. There's no reason to tell him no, even if it's a silly request, so you nod. 

Again, that look of delight spreads across his face. You would face down a hundred silver Lynels to see that smile, but you never have to. All you have to do is bring him Goron Spice and show him how to cook monster curry, and he melts right into it. 

"Delightful!" He cries with a clap, "Come, let's go say hello to the Princess, then, I'm sure you've slunk off on your own again, as usual," he laughs, wagging a finger at you. 

You trot along beside him back down to the lower platform, where Zelda is still at the Inn with Kodah. She looks up when she hears you approach, and her eyes soften when they fall upon you. She smiles, like she's trying to tell you something, but you don't know what, and people aren't the kind of puzzles you like. 

Sidon and Zelda speak and you check out pretty quickly. You aren't so interested in the topic of diplomacy, and there's far more things going on to occupy your attentions, anyway. The weather is always humid in the Domain, but it's subtly moreso than usual, and you can see the sky is ever so slightly more red than usual, betraying the possibility of a storm brewing in the distance. Perhaps its something to look out for in the next few days, especially if it's a Thunderstorm. There's children playing in the plaza, and guards passing by as well. Even with your back turned to them, each footstep in the ankle deep water is a thump-thump-thump that reverberates in your bones. You don't need to look to count out how many people are near and where they are. You can't help but lose yourself in sights and smells and sounds, all a cacophony of Presence, of reality that offers you split second warnings to danger. A hiss is just a hiss until it's a lizalfos; a thwip is just a _thwip_ until it's a bowstring, a shing is just a _shing_ until it's a blade against your throat. 

The wind is cool and the water gentle around your feet, the sights and smells all peaceful, as always.

Your attention doesn't return to the people around you until Sidon gently touches your shoulder and you turn toward him.

"I said, did you want to head off to the kitchen, my friend?" You nod. 

You rarely delve into the internal sections of the palace, and it seems like most Zora consider the large expanse of it that's set into the luminous stone beneath the major palace to be less of a grand palace and more of a behind the stage area. It's not nearly as ornate as the outside and you always notice no one ever loiters in the open areas. It's mostly hallways and functional areas, like storage, or kitchen, or barren looking sleeping quarters. You get the feeling Zora like open spaces, whether it be sweeping open grounds or open waters.

The palace kitchen is rather smaller than you anticipated, though perhaps this isn't the main kitchen, since no one else is here, and it's perhaps a bit more decorated than some of the other underpalace areas, probably since those working there are necessitated to linger at least somewhat. It's as well equipped as any equivalently regal cooking area, with wood stoves and smooth granite surfaces, cast iron pots dangling over blue stone bowls, and an absolutely comical amount of knives. Certainly, everything in a Zora diet requires knives in the prepwork, but that's hardly different from any other cultures cuisine, and no other kitchen you ever go to has had such a genuinely baffling amount of cuttlery. The things are stuck into every possible surface, so that no matter what you are doing or where you are, if you even _ think _you might need a knife, ten different kinds are immediately within arms reach. It makes you an uncomfortable mix of "good, always within reach of a weapon" and "oh no, I'm surrounded by weapons" that you are really not much of a fan of. You generally just try to ignore the knives.

"Where do we start then, oh, Hero of Hotplates?" Sidon asks, putting his hands on his hips. You snort at his terrible joke and unshoulder your bag as you walk toward one of the many kitchen islands, placing it on the counter, rummaging about in the depths for some stored bottles of monster guts. Can't leave home without 'em.

Sidon crinkled his crest in a particularly cute way, like a cat's nose. You set the bottles on the counter beside your rucksack and fold it back shut. 

"Oh," he hums, "We are… using those?" 

It's half a question, half some kind of bizarrely phrased plea for mercy. This is exactly why you never leave home without them; and the perfect opportunity to show off by turning the worst ingredients into the most enticing dishes. You nod excitedly at him and his dubious expression.

"Ah… well, if you say so, I suppose I trust you!" He sounds less enthusiastic than he clearly is trying to, but he straightens up anyway, "alright, then, where do we start? What are we making?" 

"Curry," you say, succinctly, and you see his eyes widen just a bit. You point at one of the large pots hanging from the ceiling and he turns to look at it.

"Ah- for the rice?" He asks, turning back to you. You nod. "I'll fill it with water, then!" He asserts. He's very good at dealing with your limited instructions.

You locate the ice box and sift around until you find some goat butter. It could probably use a little milk, but you don't see any, and wonder if Zora even drink milk. That's a mammal thing, right? Oh, well. 

Sidon has filled the pot with water and set it by the stove by the time you return, and the two of you see about finding a bag of rice. It takes longer than you anticipated, but you find a decent sized sack in a cupboard who's entire door is lousy with knives. 

By the time you've dragged the bag of rice out the pantry, you see he's placed the pot onto the stovetop. You trot over and peek in, and it's far too much water. You suspect he's used to boiling rice rather than steaming it, but you definitely were planning on steaming. You scoop out a few cups and toss them into the cistern. He seems very intrigued, and you show him how many cups of rice you put in the water. He nods along, and lights the stove when you point at it. 

You grab a knife from the wall and offer it to him with the monster guts. He grimaces, but doesn't fight you, taking the items to a cutting board while you busy yourself with constructing a sauce. Goron spice, goat butter, sunshroom and spicy peppers… you spend a bit of time looking for cumin. 

"Have I diced these well enough?" He asks, and you come to inspect his work. He's actually chopped them a bit small, but it will be fine. You give him an enthusiastic thumbs up he seems to enjoy. 

Cooking with Sidon is easy. He follows you so easily, with such interest, such enthusiasm. You don't like speaking, and he never tries to make you. Most people do, or seem frustrated when you won't. He never questions your silence, never gets frustrated when you respond to complex questions with shrugs and gestures. You like being near him. It's easy, natural, normal. You feel real, solid. 

He pours sauce over rice with your hands on his to show him when to stop. His scales are cool against your skin, smooth, tiny, like a snake more than a fish, and you want to touch more of them to feel if they're all like that, but you know that would be rude.

"Well," Sidon says, admiring the two plated dishes before you, "I daresay, however these may taste, they are certainly pretty. I don't know if I've ever seen food quite that colour before. I suppose it's time for the moment of truth, then, hm?"

You smile and nod vigorously, hopping up on the counter and grabbing a plate for yourself. He seems bemused by this, and brandishes a fork that looks like a tiny Zora trident, scooping up what looks more like a Hylian sized portion than one for a ten foot tall Zora. 

His eyes scrunch shut as he takes a bite, like he's already accepted the taste, before they burst open and blink rapidly.

"This is delicious!" He cries, as if you didn't know it would be. You can't help but laugh. He really was willing to eat something he thought would be terrible because you have it to him.

He sits next to you on the counter and you eat your curry while he tells you a story about a time he tried monster curry when he had been a child prepared by a Zora chef, and how terrible it had been. 

His voice is always a comfort. It's so easy for you to become distracted most of the time. The world often feels like it was made without a space for you to exist in, and you are trespassing within it, a bent sword that cannot be sheathed. You find it all too easy to lose yourself in your thoughts, but when he speaks, your mind doesn't stray. 

"I was wondering, actually," he says, twiddling his little trident fork in his hand, eyes cast away somewhere to his left in thought, "If I might ask you a somewhat presumptuous question?"

You blink and nod. Of course he can. He can ask you anything. 

"Would you, perhaps, if it suited you-" he seems to be fumbling for words, which is strange for him. "What I mean to say is- I very much enjoy your company, when you visit, and as you know you are my most treasured friend, and whenever you are here, I feel- well, I feel very happy, to tell you the truth, and-" he's babbling, but finally he looks up at you, "I have feelings for you, is what I mean."

You tilt your head at him, not understanding. Of course he has feelings for you, you're friends. Most people have feelings, you think, though you often wonder if other people experience feelings different from you. The way others speak about feelings seems so strange and foreign, it seems something must have been built wrong within you, that you must be doing it wrong. 

"I, uh," he stutters, after you just stare at him for a few seconds, "romantically, is what I mean." 

You can physically feel your ears swivel up like a startled dog's as it clicks together. Romantic feelings? For _ you _? 

"Why?" You ask, baffled, screwing up your eyebrows is disbelief. He seems more startled by your reaction than you are by his initial sentiment.

"Wh- why?" He repeats, shaking his head, "what do you mean, why?" 

You mean _ why? _ You can understand wanting to be _ friends _ with you- you are the Hylian Champion, the the Hero who wields the Sword of Evil's Bane- you're a valuable asset to have, you're more than aware of that, and you always bring gifts and stories- you do your very best to remain a valuable friend to have, but there's nothing to be gained from any deeper relationship with you than that. You have nothing to offer, no more talents or skills or gifts than you have already given. You're bland and uninteresting beyond your occupation, something feral and prone to startling. You are a wild creature made to live and kill and nothing more- what could you possibly offer him? What could he possibly want?

"I have feelings for you because- because you're you, Link!" He sputters. "You are so brave, and at the same time, so kind… you were terrified of the Lynel at our peak, and yet you fought it anyway. I know you struggle with connecting with others, but I see you trying anyway…" he trails off for a moment, then sets his plate to the side so he can pull himself up to face you better. "I… like being around you. When you aren't here, I wish you were."

You gape at him, brain moving sluggishly through a bizarre slurry of confusing information like wading through thick mud. Is that what love is? You enjoy the time you spend cooking, and you love cooking. You enjoy the time you spend with Sidon, you enjoy seeing him happy. What is that? Is that something you're allowed to do? Do you have the right to steal the attentions of another one of Dorephan's children? 

"Link," he says, gently, pulling you out of your thoughts, "are you alright?" 

You consider the question, and then nod, feeling a strange pit of guilt in your stomach at the idea of being liked, as if you know deep down you shouldn't be, that you are wronging someone by being liked by them. You look back up at him. He is beautiful, a sculpted statue of scales and colour that makes you feel like lumpy stonework in his presence. Of course you have feelings for him. Your stomach feels queasy and you look askance, unwilling to meet his eyes suddenly. 

"I'm sorry if I've offended you," he says, after a moment, and you feel your shoulders hike up in protest without your telling them too, before you shake your head. "I've not offended you, then?"

How could he ever?

You look back up at him. Your apprehension has offended _ him _, clearly. You're not surprised. But how could you not be apprehensive? What a terrible thing to care about you are. You're a bad match. 

You frown, searching his face for a moment, before you reach up to touch it and pause, uncertain. He moves forward, pressing his cheek against your palm and letting his eyes close. Smooth, and cool, more like a snake than a fish. You could lose yourself in him. You wish you had anything as good to offer him in return. 

He opens his eyes, pressing one hand over yours on his cheek, and the other over the hand your kneading your tunic with over your heart. You didn't realize you were doing that. Your fingers still against the fabric. 

"You feel the same," he says. It is not a question, but you nod, swallowing. Your mouth is dry, despite the meal. Do you deserve this?

"What do you want to do?" He asks, softly. 

"I want to kiss you," you say, without thinking. That is what you want, though you hadn't realized it.

You're thinking too much. You're putting meaning in places it doesn't exist, tearing apart truths to find uncomfortable what ifs. Stop. 

"Good," he says, breathless, and leans down, and kisses you.

How easy it is, suddenly, strangely, to melt into this. His lips are cool and soft, not like snakes or like fish, but something other and something new and something entirely Sidon, and his hand moves to your own face, and you don't ever want it to leave. 

You stop overthinking it. 


End file.
